


Christmas Does Not Mean "Happy Birthday, Jesus"

by KimHoppy



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:45:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimHoppy/pseuds/KimHoppy
Summary: It's Christmas time, and it's not just Crowley or Aziraphale who have to hide all the sharp objects or to need to throw snowballs.  But it is their tradition.





	

Popular theory would have angels as being at their most annoying at Christmas time.  Said theory was dead wrong, because angels were annoying _all the time_ , at least in Crowley’s experience, and in his opinion, angels tended to most the most annoying when (they thought) they were right.

But Christmas … Christmas for angels was _different_.

Personally, Crowley _loved_ Christmas.  The gaudy decorations, the amounts of candy and sweets and feasts, the ringing bells of begging charities that only gave to people they deemed worthy, the sheer commercialism that he had helped cultivate like a dedicated gardener would their prize-winning roses, he’d put _centuries_ of work into Christmas.  He pushed the start of the shopping season just a little bit earlier each year,[1] whispered in the ears of scalpers to buy the favorites of the market and sell them for over-inflated prices, coaxed the desperate parents desperate to fulfill the desires of their screaming offspring to pay those ridiculous prices, filled the air in busy shops with just enough negative energy to make everyone just that much more miserable, his touch was everywhere. All through it all Crowley settled back and drank his expensive limited edition coffee and admired his gifts to humanity under the big world Christmas tree, wrapped up in garish paper and the biggest bows and always a size too small and no gift receipt included.

Aziraphale shook his head at Crowley’s amusements, clucked his tongue, said, “Really, my dear,” as Crowley boasted his most recent mayhem, but he never made any effort to stop him.

The reason was, angels, or at least _one_ angel, _hated Christmas_.

Well, perhaps that was too strong description.  There was no pre-revelation Grinch hate on the angel’s part.[2]  Aziraphale loved the tacky sweaters[3] and the sweets and coffee[4], and he beamed at the families coming together, the feelings of goodwill that spread across the humans like wildfire.  He sighed with contentment at the ringing bells of charities and volunteers at the soup kitchens.  So Aziraphale loved the holiday season.

He just hated Christmas, in particular. And it wasn’t even the Santa part.  Aziraphale _hated_ celebrating the birth of Jesus.

_Because it was on the wrong day!_

Aziraphale had ranted when the Christians had first started to align the Roman pagan holiday with the birth of God’s Son, decrying it as rude and sacrilegious as he waved a wine bottle around, blade already deeply embedded in the table.  How _dare_ they link the birth of the Son to a Pagan God to help ease the acceptance of Christianity to the Roman world?[5]  Who dared to suggest such a thing?![6]

It wasn’t hard for them to avoid that particular portion of Christmas.  Crowley naturally avoided any topic about anyone who was more important than him[7] and Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge things that weren’t right, and their holiday season rarely was disappointing with those avoidances.

Crowley let himself into the bookshop, smiling at the decorations on either side of the shop.[8]  Inside there was a small menorah was partially lit, the flames dancing and, sniffing the air and hearing a persistent beeping, Crowley narrowed his eyes at it.  The angel would have already charmed it to not burn the place down, but Crowley still distrusted religious artifacts.  They always burned him.[9]

“Crowley, is that you, my dear?” Aziraphale called out.

“Sign’s closed, angel, course it is.”  He stared when Aziraphale appeared from the back with a winning ugly Christmas sweater.  It blinked and lit up.

Aziraphale saw his gaze and looked down, smiling fondly at it.  “Isn’t it lovely?”

“One of a kind, one hopes,” Crowley said and handed over a spiced hot chocolate. 

“Thank you.”  He hummed as he sipped.  “Delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” Crowley said with false modesty.

Aziraphale missed it.  “I’ve made us a delicious feast.”

“Really?  That’s, erm, great.  Fifty-sixth time’s the charm.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t been that many,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley kept his smile through centuries of practice.  Aziraphale insisted he knew how to cook, but he only knew how to cook one thing, and that was tea, which, actually, wasn’t cooked at all.  So far, Crowley had smiled his way through many over-dried turkeys, burnt soup, undercooked chicken, doughy pies, and, on one memorable occasion, the actual wrappings from the grocers.[10]  “That’s great, angel,” he said, pulling off his coat.  “Need any help?”

“No, thank you, I’ve got it all under control.”

The steady beeping continued to fill the air, all the more insistent, and Crowley looked at the angel over his sunglasses.  “Angel?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“The smoke alarm is going off.”[11] 

“Is that what that is?”

He paused as the angel continued to smile.  “Angel, that’s _bad_.”

Alarm filled his face.  “It is?  Oh, dear.”

He disappeared back towards his little kitchen and Crowley called, “Didn’t you notice the smoke?”

“Didn’t you ever enjoy smoked meat?” Aziraphale replied, a little desperately.  “And, erm, pies?  And … oh dear ….”

“You were reading again, weren’t you?” Crowley commented, picking up an opened book and flipping through the pages.

“Well, it’s all so boring, just waiting for everything to get done,” Aziraphale defended.

“You forgot to set the alarms.  And you shoved everything in your oven at the same time.”[12]

“It all fit.”

While Crowley’s culinary abilities began and ended at opening a menu and telling his order to the waiter, respectively, he was dimly aware that was not how one cooked a meal, especially one that included soup.

“I’m sure it’s still all perfectly edible,” Aziraphale said with optimism.

“Can’t you just make one little miracle,” Crowley started and then stopped at Aziraphale’s glare.  Miracles were not used at Christmas, as a principle, unless they were for a very good cause.[13]

“If you don’t want to eat it,” Aziraphale huffed.

“I’ll eat it, I’m sure it’s fine,” Crowley lied.

Aziraphale stared down at his burnt, undercooked, and fallen feast, and a lesser being might have cried.  But he merely sighed.  “I don’t know why we do this.”

“Because it’s Christmas,” Crowley said.  “Everyone eats home-cooked Feasts.  You’re big on it, remember.”

“So are you.”

“I’m supportive of the desserts and alcohol consumption,” Crowley corrected.  “We don’t have to practice what we preach, angel.  Except the dessert and alcohol.  And presents,” he added.

“Presents,” Aziraphale smiled.  “What have you gotten me this year?”

“That’d be telling.  Gotta unwrap it and waste paper, make a big mess.”  Crowley kicked the oven door shut, ignoring the food, and slung and arm around the angel’s shoulders.  “Let’s put up a tree, what do you say?  We’ll put an angel right on top.  That’s tradition,” he added when Aziraphale made a face.

“It’s _Gabriel_ , you know.”

“So then no angel.  How about a demon, handsome one in sunglasses?  Can’t go wrong there.”

“I’m sure plenty could go wrong,” Aziraphale said, amused.

Crowley cajoled the angel into the main room, where conveniently there was a bare evergreen and boxes of ornaments.  Aziraphale couldn’t ever really disapprove of Christmas trees, because while they were originally pagan rituals the Christians commandeered for the holiday, Crowley had pointed out it was a pagan thing first and now it was a Santa thing, and it was Commercialism at its finest, and Aziraphale had to let him celebrate his holiday how he wanted.  So as long as Crowley kept the religious figures out, and made sure the really awful ornaments Aziraphale would love but would completely ruin the look of the tree were _not_ around, he could usually coax Aziraphale into it.

They trimmed the tree with liberal use of wine and good cheer and not a few miracle-repaired bulbs.[14] Crowley had convinced Aziraphale to _not_ use the old candles from Christmases past, producing some LED ones that worked without that pesky cord connecting them or having to be plugged in, and he had thrown handfuls of tinsel everywhere while Aziraphale complained at the mess and how it was making everything lopsided, and Crowley threw handfuls at the angel, who threw it back.

On the radio, Christmas carols that were secular played due to both angelic and demonic intervention.  Neither wanted the evening spoiled, either by lies[15] or by upset moods that still risked cutlery embedded into the table.[16]

When the tree was finished, they both settled back to eat a meal similar to Aziraphale’s failed attempt delivered by a confused delivery person who usually delivered Chinese.[17]  Crowley gave him a nice tip.[18] They reminisced about Christmases past, laughing and somber in turns.

Over a roaring fire – Aziraphale did like the classics, and the fireplace usually appeared only a few days each year[19] — they traded gifts.[20] 

“Where did you find this?” Aziraphale marveled, delighted, as he examined the old scroll.  “I thought they’d all burned in Alexandria.”

“And let you at my stash for future gifts?” Crowley said, already sending his drone through the city[21] and cackling at the view from his phone.

“Do leav– oh, that’s all right,” Aziraphale said, realizing Crowley was tormenting carolers that had been singing _Silent Night_.

Crowley hissed his laughter, hats and music lost to the snow before waving his hand and calling the drone back.  He’d play with it a few more times before never touching it again, except in a sudden fit years from now, and he’d never be able to find it.[22]  “Just because they’re singing it early, just for you,” he grinned.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said sincerely. 

Crowley mused at the events of that long-ago day.  “Remind me, does your lot celebrate his birthday Up There now or on the real day?”

“Both, I think, these days.  It’s the humans, they insist, no matter how many times we try to tell them.[23]  _I_ believe we should only celebrate on his true birthday.”

“What’s wrong with having two parties?”

“Nothing, I suppose, but it is a lie, and that is against the rules.”[24]

Crowley asked what was really important.  “Big Holiday, everyone off?”[25]

“Heaven does not take vacations.”

“You know what I mean.  Does everyone cut loose at the party?  Or parties?”

“Erm, well, I suppose.  I don’t really go,” Aziraphale said.

“Why not?”

“It’s rather awkward, at least I feel so, listening to everyone talk about that day, as if we all weren’t there, for a given value, of course.  I think it embarrasses him actually, the way all the angels talk about being there and seeing him get born and keeping the town safe.  And no one orders enough cake.”

Crowley laughed and shook his head fondly.  “Yeah, I remember all the demons your lot smote those days for daring to be in the same town.”

Aziraphale gave him a look.  “I remember finding you hiding under the bed, and then hiding you so no one else found you.”

He had conveniently forgotten that, because it ruined his image.[26]  “Nah, that’s not right,” he denied.

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale said.  “He _was_ a cute baby.”[27]

“No, he was terrifying.  One thing both him and Adam had in common.” [28]

Aziraphale nodded.  The Christ-child and Anti-Christ-child would be no less.  It was lucky they both had been such nice boys, all in all.  Such power and responsibility was a heavy burden.  He looked out the window and smiled.  “Oh, Crowley, are you making it snow?”

“Yes, I have flights to delay,” Crowley said instinctively.[29]

“How –oh blast, those carolers again.  Would you be a dear?”

Crowley grinned.  “Come on, you know you want to.”

“I shouldn’t.”  But as the familiar tones of, _Oh Come All Ye Faithful_ , rang through the air, he followed Crowley up to the roof, where both of them took turns throwing snowballs down onto the unsuspecting humans,[30] laughed, and drank hot cocoa with little marshmallows.

This, both of them decided as they clicked mugs as the carolers left to find other safer venues,[31] what was Christmas was all about.

 

* * *

 

 

[1] He was curious to see how soon if he could get Humans to start Christmas shopping en masse, and was hoping one day he’d reach the elusive December 26th date.  He had already managed Christmas in July, that was almost halfway there.

[2] Personally, Crowley thought the Grinch changing to suit his annoying neighbors was a very bad lesson to teach humans.  Those Whovians should have had respect for their neighbor, who clearly had different religious views.

[3] Crowley was convinced Aziraphale inspired the designers of those sweaters, and worse, was _proud_ of them.  Given Aziraphale’s idea of fashion, he needed no further evidence.

[4] The angel believed he was responsible for those particular aspects of the holiday season.

[5] Aziraphale’s eyes had _glowed_ with heavenly fire when Crowley pointed out the usefulness in getting humans to Heavens side, and he had leaned over, stabbed his angelic blade into the table a hair’s breath from Crowley’s hand, and hissed, “ _There are lines we do not cross!  We do not use God’s Son like he is a piece of chattel for trade._ ”

[6] Crowley had avoided eye contact and focused on his own wine, keeping his hands far away from the angel.  He’d thought it’d be _funny_.  Now, it was looking hazardous to his health, or at least hands, and he muttered some consolatory words while desperately trying to figure out how to cover his tracks.

[7] That being, everyone.

[8] Thankfully, Aziraphale had _finally_ stopped making any Christian ones stop working, and Crowley had almost gotten him to stop putting up the Christian Christmas decorations in the Spring during the real birthday of Jesus.   (He’d had covert conversations with the neighbors to explain Aziraphale’s unorthodoxly timed Christmas displays, and vowed to never tell the angel his neighbors wouldn’t confront him because they apparently thought him afflicted with a dementia disease – through _nothing_ Crowley had said or hinted.  Honest, it was all them and Aziraphale’s own marketing of his persona.  Crowley had had to excuse himself and laugh himself silly.)  The Christian Carols and Nativity set were easier to hide than the extravagant light displays that just made _everyone_ annoyed – especially Aziraphale as customers would come in if only to tell him to take down his lights – and Crowley always smiled at the suspiciously familiar angel in the display even though it wasn’t historically accurate.  (So fair, he hadn’t noticed the small serpent up in the rafters.)

[9] Well, not always.  Crowley could touch and handle any number of religious artifacts, as Aziraphale could for many demonic ones.  However, there was always that _one_ you handled in front of humans and made it into the books.

[10] The tea was always perfect, though.

[11] Crowley had put them up after the last fire, and Aziraphale had religiously made sure the batteries were good even though he was more concerned with fire damaging his books and not smoke.  A fire detector, he had commented to Crowley, would be more useful, and when Crowley pointed out where there’s smoke, there’s fire, Aziraphale had replied innocently, what about smoke machines?

[12] Aziraphale’s oven had been featured in a magazine from the 1930s.

[13] Crowley would have argued at this point that food was a good cause, but Aziraphale would glare and also look hurt, which was somehow worse.

[14] Repairing ornaments was an acceptable use of a miracle.  Both of them agreed.

[15] Crowley liked lies.

[16] Both hated that.  Aziraphale worried about blunting the knives and damaging antique tabletops, Crowley worried about his hands.

[17] Food was also an acceptable use of a miracle, when neither were thinking about it.

[18] “If there’s thin ice, push your enemies onto it.”  Aziraphale gave a tip the delivery person appreciated more.

[19] Aziraphale didn’t like dealing with the ash bucket or how much room the logs took up on his floor, but he still liked burning Yule logs.

[20] It was something Crowley insisted, citing supporting Commercialism, and Aziraphale didn’t protest too vehemently about.

[21] Sans batteries or permits, both neither beings realized were needed.

[22] Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale took this as a slight against Aziraphale’s gift.  While Aziraphale tended to settle in the past and bemoaned change, Crowley’s universe was filled with things that drew his attention, amused him for five minutes, and were never picked up again as the newest fad caught his attention.  The demon had storage buildings everywhere in the world and refused to part with a single thing, despite having forgotten he even owned it.   Archeologists and historians would weep if they found his stashes, for different reasons.  Honestly, it was a surprise the Bentley had lasted as long as it had, and it probably only did because 1) Crowley still couldn’t mount a horse to save his life, 2) he loved driving, and 3) it _was_ a very cool car that made all the humans pay attention to him.

[23] These days, Aziraphale would be sad to hear, only he insisted on correcting Humans of their error.  The other angels liked a good party.

[24] See Number VIII (or IX) of the big X

[25] If Adam had been a good little Anti-Christ, Crowley mused Hell probably would have taken a week off to celebrate his birth.  They liked things in excesses, especially days off.

[26] According to the reports Crowley had filed, he had bravely avoided all angelic enemies – over a thousand score, and all with flaming weapons and lit with Holy Light and experienced warriors – and saw the birth, but unfortunately was outnumbered and unable to do his Demonic Duty and bite the infant.  If he had known this report was what was going to get him fast-tracked to handle the Anti-Christ situation, he would have toned down his ~~lie~~ exaggeration.

In reality, he’d gotten into the town after following a complaining caravan, enjoying the fruits of his influence at the last minute census, took a room, got drunk due to trying to tempt bigger than his tolerance, and fell asleep.  He’d woken up to the Light of Heavenly Angels, panicked, and hid under the bed when he heard an angel approaching.  (It was the bells that always gave them away; if one really listened, the sound could be heard at each flutter of a wing.)

Aziraphale had immediately recognized Crowley’s work and had searched him out before someone else could.  It would have been impossible to sneak the demon out of the city and there was no way this room wouldn’t be checked again.  Already angels had been coming to speak with Aziraphale, and the angel had desperately opened his pocket so Crowley could slither inside.  It had been a difficult time, but, true to Crowley’s nature, he had used the chance to his advantage by pointing Aziraphale at demons who used to figuratively stuff him in his Hellish locker. 

[27] Aziraphale was the sort to think all babies were cute, but he was also the sort to never approach closer than three feet and never held them. 

[28] All babies were terrifying to Crowley.  He’d only had close contact with two of them.  The first baby had soured him, and the second centuries later had confirmed his impression.

[29] Weather manipulation took a lot of effort on Crowley’s part, more than he was willing to exert for generally so little payoff, but he was the expert at claiming credit.

[30] Aziraphale had long determined this act was Angelic Smiting of the Wicked, and nothing Crowley would say would make him consider it otherwise.  (Crowley considered it Fun and made a game of it, calling out points for whose throw was best.)  Honestly, if they would just celebrate the birth of Jesus on the right day, as was proper and respectful, he wouldn’t have to punish them so.  They were lucky it wasn’t like the Old Days, because Aziraphale had toned down his smiting compared to years before. 

And anyway, there was no way he was going to let a _demon_ beat him at righteous smiting.  That just wouldn’t do at all.

[31] Needless to say, Aziraphale won in Righteous Smiting Via Snowballs, though Crowley would claim it was because the demon let him.  In the Spirit of Christmas.  And the fact angels were very sore losers.

**Author's Note:**

> No one knows the actual birth of Jesus Christ, but it is pretty much agreed it wasn't Christmas Day, most definitely not in the Winter due to it being a poor time to make everyone travel for a census. Depending on the theory, he was born either in the Spring or Fall. I've chosen Spring, merely because that when the Zodiac sign of Aries is, which is a Ram, which makes him a Lamb of God.
> 
> I can pretend to be witty.


End file.
